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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




POEMS 



DRAMATIC AND LYRIC 



BY 



CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY RUNCIE 



AUTHOR OF DIVINELY LED 



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NEW YORK AND LONDON 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

®;^e ^nicKcrbothcr ^rcss 
1888 






COPYRIGHT BY 

CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY RUNCIE 
Z887 



Press of 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York 



DEDICATED 

TO 

MY HUSBAND 



Rev. JAMES RUNCIE, D.D. 



To you I inscribe this little book. To you whose 
faithful love, noble example, and Christian virtues have 
made it a delight to be your wife. If any one shall 
reap pleasure in the perusal of these simple little poems, 
it shall be because to you I owe these happy years, which 
made it, under God, possible for me to have leisure in 
our married life, while in the midst of your own most 
busy and useful work. 

Constance Faunt Le Roy Runcie. 



Christ Church Rectory, 
X St. Joseph, Missouri. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Two Gifts — Poetry and Song i 

Anselmo, the Priest 3 

Demetrius 11 

Christ and the Soul . . 21 

Deceived 23 

The Woman He Loves .25 

Silence and the Sea 28 

Thy Lover 29 

Prayer 31 

I Have Let It Go 33 

The Spanish Mother 35 

Oh, to Be at Rest ! 43 

Memory's Picture 45 

Forgiveness 47 

First Love 48 

The Interpreter of Song 50 

If I May 52 

This Would I Do 54 

Proud Anguish 56 

Claudia 59 

Whose Sin ? 65 

V 



VI CONTENTS, 

PACK 

Greeting 73 

I Hold My Heart So Still 75 

A Simple Ballad 76 

You AND I 80 

Dove of Peace 82 

The Flower Coquette 83 

In the Woods 84 

I Only Wait 86 

Flowers 89 

Alas ! 91 

You Woke Me 92 

Known unto God 93 

Broken Friendship 98 



TWO GIFTS. 
Poetry and Song. 



A star came falling from the sky, 

I caught the lovely thing ; 
It was a song sent from on high, 

Flashed from an angel's wing. 
From one of heaven's golden harps 

This little song came straying ; 
It stole into my very heart. 

As if I had been praying. 
Who sang it first, I do not know. 

Nor how it lost its way ; 
I only caught it to my heart. 

And whispered to it, "Stay." 

A dainty floweret at my feet, 

From out the ground came peeping. 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC, 

Within the snow-white chaliced cup, 

A Poem lay there sleeping. 
'T was sent to me from Mother Earth, 

By these most lovely hands ; 
I caught it to my heart of hearts. 

And heard its sweet demands. 
Who wrote it first, I do not know, 

Nor how it lost its way ; 
I found it in the flower's heart. 

And whispered to it, " Stay." 

No longer mine alone are these. 

This flower and this song, 
I give them as they came to me, 

To you they may belong. 
I only listened with my soul, 

I only loved them well, 
And plucked the flower as it grew, 

And saw the star that fell. 
Who sang — who wrote — I do not know. 

Nor how they lost their way ; 
I only caught them to my heart. 

And whispered to them, " Stay." 



ANSELMO, THE PRIEST. 



Scene — A Roman Catholic cathedral^ dimly lighted. 
Dress — The priest's robes. 



ANSELMO, THE PRIEST. 



With the shades of evening gathering around him— 
alone— in his dimly lighted and deserted church, Ansel- 
mo lies prostrate at the foot of the cross, writhing in 
spiritual agony. He speaks : 

" Shall I, a priest of God, live on in sin ? 

heart of mine, break, break, but own it not ; 
Thy vows remember ; consecrated soul, 

Accept the stripes laid on thee quivering hot. 

"It is too much ; too much is asked of me, 

1 have no strength ; forgive, O mighty God ! 
For I am spent with oft repeated fasts, 

And faint beneath the chastening of thy rod. 

" I saw her here again, I always see her 
The lovely face that ever haunts me so ; 

5 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRlC. 

*T was early Mass — were others here beside her ? 
Alas ! I saw but her ; I do not know. 

" Lo ! at the sacred cross I '11 kneel and pray ; 

It may be Christ, the Son of God, will hear, 
And drive the Devil from my hungry heart, 

And let me feel His Holy Presence near. 

" They tell me I can sing ; men praise my voice ; 

They say 't is rare, that people come to hear ; 
And once, when chanting through the aisle, we came 

Close where she sat, I saw her shed a tear. 

" So close were we my vestments touched her sleeve ; 

I thrilled with hottest joy, and walked on panting. 
Her lover ! yes ! although she only thought 

It was the priest absorbed in holy chanting. 

" O mercy. Lord ! — have mercy on my soul ! 

I am the priest ; shall I forget my vow ? 
I will do penance — fast — keep vigil — pray — 

If only I may claim thy help now, now. 



POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L VRIC. 

" For Satan comes ; I hear his whisper vile : 
Why this I *ve often thought before — yes, yes— 

That I might use this voice men call so grand, 
And win, with her, both honor and success. 

" Then I will go— I '11 fly this very night ! 

O eyes so dear ! O lips ! O form divine ! 
O ecstasy of bliss ! surpassing sweet 

The hope to win ! ye must — ye shall be mine ! 



" I must have fainted here, and lain all night 
Prone at the sacred feet on floor of stone. 

For I am giddy still — the early dawn 

Doth barely show me church, silent and lone. 

" This is a holy day ; the faithful soon 
Will come sins to confess ; I must within 

And hear the weary wrongs of souls, and then 
Absolve them from their heavy yoke of sin. 

" For I am still the priest ! Last night I dreamed ; 
Tho' faint and spent, tho' pitifully weak, 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LVRIC, 

No food shall pass my lips this day, no words 
Aught save my sacred office bids me speak. 

" This kind goeth not forth except men fast 
And pray ; then hear me while I fast and pray, 

Absolving me from sin. I will not leave 
These sacred walls upon this holy day. 

" But some one comes, some poor, sin-stricken soul. 
Who through the early dawn doth softly steal. 

And seeks in holy church confessional. 
On penitential stool to meekly kneel. 

" My daughter, what is this you would confess — 
A sinful love ? — (O heart, be still !) And he 

A priest you say ? — I stifle ! — help me breathe ! 
A priest ? Oh no, no, no, — this shall not be ! 

" This is a mortal sin, pray God, — I can 

No more — a sudden sickness hath come o'er, — 

Go ! daughter, go ! yet stay ! 't is mortal sin, 
Yet tell me which, which priest, I do implore ! 



POEMS, Dramatic and lVric. 

" Hush, whisper low his name, Father Anselmo, 
The pale and holy priest of God, whose voice 

Is more than seraph-sweet, whose glorious song 
Must make the angels, high in heaven, rejoice. 

" 'T is she ! my love ! — 't is she ! Anselmo I 



She loves me, her sweet lips have breathed it low ; 
I think my heart-strings break, I drink her breath, 
I cannot speak, — she must, in silence, go. 

" I hear her weeping — mercy ! — mercy, Christ ! 

How can I let her go ? One word, O Lord, 
To tell my love, I love ; — one little word, — 

Then take my heart and plunge thy flaming sword ! 

" She 's weeping still !— Ha ! — mercy, mercy ! 

O my love ! — O merciful Heaven, hear ! 
Help, help, help ! my heart is dying, O Christ ! 

How can I live and not kiss 'way that tear ? 

" Weep on, weep on, my heart is crucified, 

And nailed upon the cross, stabbed through and 
through ! 



10 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

I cannot move, I am a priest of God, 

And to my sacred vows I will be true." 

****** 
*T was yet scarce day when in the church came chanting 

The Orders holy — no other soul was there ; 
They, later, found their young and gifted brother 

Anselmo, dead in his confessional chair. 




DEMETRIUS. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

Philip — The Seco?id King of Macedonia. 
Demetrius— Z^^ Crown-Prince. 
Perses — Disinherited son of the king. 
Princess Zo^s.— Betrothed to Demetrius. 
The Gaoler. 

Time — In the reign of Philip II. of Macedonia. 
Scene — A prison with a couch of straw. 
Costume — Greek dress worn by royalty. 



DEMETRIUS. 



Demetrius — in Prison, 

I do not understand. Why am I here ? 

A prince of Macedonia in prison thrust ? 
Imperial Rome ! hath she a hand in this ? 

No — no — I will my king and father trust. 

He loves me ! Why, 't was but this very day 
I felt his large heart beat, and saw a tear 

Race down his cheek, as in his arms I lay 
Wrapped in a close embrace ; I will not fear, 

But sleep in peace. Yet, first I thank thee, gods, 
That once again I breathe my native air. 

Once more have felt my mother's gentle kiss. 
And met, once more, my love with golden hair. 
13 



14 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

It was a royal greeting they gave me, — 
My kingly sire upon his throne of state — 

While crowding round, in sumptuous attire, 
Were Macedonia's nobles, and her great. 

Then swore I knightly troth on bended knee, 
And took the oath of fealty to the crown ; 

And here again I swear I will be true, 

And live for country, honor, and renown ! 

This is my dungeon ; let me for the night 
Feel what it is in prison low to lie ; 

Should I become a king, I then may know. 
And spare unhappy souls brought here to die. 

Yes, I will rest me here ; this couch of straw 
Shall be to me a paradise of dreams : 

My Zoe, I will fondly think of thee, 

How in thine eyes the holy love-light gleams. 

Ha ! — hark, that grating noise — See ! in the lock 
The rusty key slow turns. It must be he, 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 1 5 

My father and my king — he loves me true, 
And comes at last to set Demetrius free. 

\Enter Perses.] 

Thou ! Perses ! Thou ! my brother, is it thou ? 

Where is the king ? Why send me from the ranks ? 
Our royal father waits ? — Come, let us go — 

Thou bringest my release ? Thanks, Perses, thanks. 

Why, what is this ? You wear no friendly smile. 

Am I, the prince, a prisoner of the state ? 
What means this, brother ? Speak ! and let me know 

What have I done deserving of this fate ? 

You tender me the cup ? Ha ! this means death ! 

The king decrees I shall drink this to-night ? 
My brother ! are you mad ? I — the prince, 

And Macedonia's heir ? — Hear I aright ? 

The king, my father, orders me to die ? 

'T is 'gainst all nature ! Perses, with me bear, 



1 6 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

For I am dazed — my poor brain reels — I know 
Not what I say — I — I stifle — give me air ! 

'T is passed ! Hand me the cup ! This weakness ill 
Becomes the prince Rome taught self to deny. 

The king decrees ? Enough ! His wish is law, 
Go take this word : Demetrius will die. 

\Exit Perses.] 

He 's gone ! — I am alone and facing death : 

I will compose myself, kneel here and pray. 
Farewell to all this world holds dear to me ; 

king, farewell, thy son shall well obey. 

Now, who comes here in this my last sad hour ? 

Once more the bolt withdraws ! Oh, it must be. 
The king sends a reprieve ! — I live ! — I live ! 

1 thank thee, God — 't is rapture to be free ! 

\Enter Princess Zoe.] 

Almighty powers ! Zoe — thou, love — thou ? 
Or is my brain all crazed, and I behold 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC, ly 

An angel in my prison ? Not till now 

Did I know all the anguish hearts can hold. 

O love, love, love, why earnest my Zoe here ? 

Thou knowest I must die ; and now the pain 
How keen ! To see thee — hold thee — lose thee — Zoe, 

My heart must burst with this last cruel strain ! 

How can I die — ye gods — how can I die ? 

Go, Zoe, go ! my love, for dost thou stay, 
My heart pants with full life, and I forget 

Rome taught the son his father to obey. 

What 's this my Zoe whispers soft and low ? 

" Demetrius, fly ! O fly with me, my own I 
For I must die if thou art brought to death ; 

I cannot live and meet the world alone. 

" The gaoler has been won by me with gold, 

Haste ! haste ! in agony of soul, I pray. 
And, on my knees, beseech thee fly with me ; 

Demetrius, my love, haste, haste away." 



1 8 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

Now may the gods on high give me the strength 
Enchantment to resist. This is mine hour 

Of mortal anguish. Zoe, my own, my sweet, 
Try not Demetrius beyond his power. 

Wouldst thou have me betray my princely word ? 

I promised to the king that I would die : 
But then ! just Heaven ! those tears burn up my soul. 

'T is more than I can bear — I yield — I fly — 

The road, thou say'st, is free ? Come, Zoe, come ! 

How sweet thou art, how beautiful thine eyes ! 
O never breathed a truer soul than thine, 

And thou art mine ! O glory fit for skies ! 

But halt ! My heart cease thy full beat of life, 
And stab with pain no more, for I must die ; 

One kiss, my own, — go ! hide those tears from me, 
Lest I should yield again, and with thee fly. 

\_She S7iatches the cup and drinks^ 

O Gods ! stay, Zoe, stay ! what hast thou done ! 
Drank of that cup ? 'T is poison swift, 't is death — 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 1 9 

Help ! help ! she dies ! O gaoler, she is gone ! 
Didst hear ? She blessed me with her dying breath. 

\^She dies.'] 

Give me the cup — where pressed she her sweet lips ? 

Show me the spot, and on my knees I '11 drink — 
My Zoe — angel ! — thou hast died for me. 

And where thou goest thy lover will not shrink. 

So — I have drained the very last dark drop, 
And fiery serpents in my veins leap high : 

[^jEnUr the king^ 

Is this the king ? Too late — yet this is joy ! 
My father, on thy heart, now let me die. 

\pies:\ 




CHRIST AND THE SOUL. 



Not in mine own, but in thy strength, O Lord, 

Have I found peace. 
The fight was hard, and only thou dost know 

How hard — thou ! 
Then had I fainted, vanquished by my pain, 

When came release, 
And once more, Lord, I freely breathe again. 

And bare my brow 
Unto my life, and walk with upright step. 

Thou art my friend : 
I give thee smile for smile, and love for love. 

I will defend 
Thy holy cause, here on our earth 'mong men 

For me — defend 
My weak and sinful cause high up in heaven. 

Before my God, 



22 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 



And say : '' She fainted ; but the fight was hard, 

And she sore pressed." 
Then walk beside me nearer still, O Christ, 

And I am blest. 




DECEIVED. 



It died hard, this love of mine for thee ; 

'T was long in dying. 
It took strong hands to break, at last, the stem 

Upon which grew 
The flower of my large and patient love. 

Men said of me : 
" This woman builds a castle of enchantment, 

In which she keeps 
Her friends, where they may walk in bright attire, 

All robed in virtues 
They do not own, — but her imagination 

Hangs about them." 
They said this thing of thee : " You think him good, 

Wholly unselfish ; 
You think him gentle, merciful, and kind, 

A very prince, 
23 



24 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC, 

And full of noble gratitude, and far above 

A common man." 
Then smiled we both — they only in derision, 

I — in content 
And firm conviction that I knew the man. 

I knew you not. 
It was not you I loved, for you are selfish. 

Hard, and cold. 
Implacable, ungentle, and vindictive. 

I love you not, 
And yet — so strong, so firm was my affection, 

That, as I said, 
My love died hard — it took strong hands to kill. 

It now lies dead. 
And you are still yourself — 't is only I 

Who lose the friend. 
For whom I built so fair and rich a castle. 

The man lived not, 
Except in mine own mind, begot of God. 



THE WOMAN HE LOVES. 



Do you know why he loves this woman 

Apart from all the rest ? 
Because of the strong, deep beauty 

Her nature is possessed. 

Because of the shining soul 
That smiles from out her eyes, 

And the power of Truth's bright glory 
That on her forehead lies. 

Because deep in her heart 

So gentle a softness lives, 
That whomsoever offends, 

She still loves and forgives. 

Because light as a feather 
She takes the ills of life, 
25 



26 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

And when the stab must come, 
She hides away the knife. 

Dipping her brush in sunshine, 
The colors only choosing 

That paint life fair and bright ; 
The rest her soul refusing. 

Because of her bold free thought ; 

Unfettered by what man thinks, 
She takes the chain of prejudice 

And breaks apart the links. 

Because of her childlike faith. 

Which makes her strong and sure. 

Of Heaven — believing much, 
Then much she can endure. 

Because at the purest fountain 
Of love she drinks so deep, 

That she gives and takes unstinted 
The treasures others keep. 



Poems, drama tic and l yric, 27 

Because of the moral grandeur 

Of her soul, that dares to be 
Itself, above man's law, 

Godlike, brave, and free. 

Because her words and actions 

Are all her very own. 
Not taking from those around her 

Their coloring and their tone. 

You know now why he loves her, 

Exalted above the rest. 
Why, holding fast her friendship, 

He counts himself so blest. 



SILENCE AND THE SEA. 



SONG.* 

The great sea rolls between us, 

And silence wide and deep, 

But my soul unto thine 

Its faithful troth doth keep. 

My love is like a flower 

That form and color hideth, 

And only by its fragrance 

You mark where it abideth. 

The night wind sighs around me, 

And blends its undertone 

With this my song I sing — 

I sing to thee alone. 

It tells thee I remember. 

It whispers thoughts of thee, 

Altho* there roll between us 

Deep silence and the sea. 

^ Set to music by the author, 
28 



THY LOVER. 



More lovely to me art thou 

Than rose on thy breast, 
More precious to him who loves, 

Than gold of the West. 

I vow I cannot discern 

Twixt heaven and thee, 
Since lo ! gazing upward, thine eyes 

Are all that I see. 

I cannot tell if it be music 

Or only thy laugh. 
Whether thou smilest — or sun shines 

On my behalf. 

Bloweth the south wind low, 

Or is it thy touch ? 
29 



30 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

These tokens all tell thee, my sweet, 
I love thee so much. 



Did I pray, or was it thy whisper 

Shaking my soul ? 
Bringing me nearer to Heaven, 

And under control ? 

Did I dream, or was it an angel 

Leaving the skies ? 
Who borrowed thy lips and thy hair, 

Who borrowed thine eyes ? 

O I love thee, I love thee ! I love 

By night and by day. 
And had I a thousand more tongues 

'T is all I should say. 



PRAYER. 



O lift me out of self, and out of passion, 
Let me forget to be at war with good. 

And like to them above, of purer fashion. 
The great — serene — angelic brotherhood. 

Am I cut to~the soul — misunderstood — 
Or fretted with the little things of life, 

Which daily rise a countless multitude, 
And daily cause me never ending strife ? 

And shall I grieve when wishes vainly perish, 
Or battle with this deeply wounded pride, 

With all the wrong it would in secret cherish, 
With all the bitterness it seeks to hide ? 

A thousand times O no ! These are not mine, 
But thine, O Christ ! Their burden killed, 
31 



32 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

And I live only when I give them thee, 

And with thy gracious peace, instead, are filled. 

A peace that was not mine by right of birth, 

O soul ! exchange quick with thy Lord ! for heaven 

He gives thee, haste ! give thine ills of earth. 
And lightly rise with this thy new soul-leaven. 




I HAVE LET IT GO. 



The dearest hope I had, 

At last, I 've let it go, 

I would not hold it longer. 

My trembling hands tho' loth, 

Unloosed their loving clasp, 
And fate becomes the stronger. 

I loved my idol so 

As woman-love 

Knows how to worship ever. 

It was not meant that I 

Should keep and hold this love, 
And so, at last, I sever 

Ties that bind me like 

The sinews of my heart. 

My very flesh and blood, 

33 



34 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRiC, 

Part of myself, almost 

My very life, I yield 
Because I know I should. 

And so — I 've let it go ; 

And now what shall I do 

To keep my heart from breaking ? 

Will knowing that I 've acted 

As my conscience speaks 
Prevent my soul from aching ? 

But no ! I will not ask ; 

Be quiet, trembling hands. 
That seek to clasp again 

The treasure so well loved. 

It may be Peace, at last, 
Shall take the place of Pain. 



THE SPANISH MOTHER. 



35 



Time — Durt?ig the Inquisition in Spain. 

Scene — In a dungeon. 

Costume — Spanish dress of a lady of high degree. 



36 



THE SPANISH MOTHER. 



At last, at last, O Christ, they bring me here. 

Give me the strength to triumph o'er my fears ; 
A woman weak who staggers — one, whose grief 

Has burned up in her heart and eyes all tears. 

I had a happy home where there was peace, 
And you — O my love — they *ve taken you ! 

In heaven only shall I meet again 

The husband God gave me, so brave and true. 

IVill not shrink — see ! see ! the marks are here 
Of their hot tongs which seared my poor wrists. 

Their dreadful torture lingers in my brain. 
Of how the heated iron burns and twists. 

No — no — I will not faint, but kneel down here 
And think of God ; perhaps, in spite of youth, 
37 



38 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

I may be firm — help purify his Church, 

And die, if needs I must, for God and truth. 

Can I forget that night, when, as we sat 

Close side by side, my husband's tender smile 

Sank in my heart, and low he spoke the words : 
"• Be strong, my own — 't is only for a while." 

And then they tore him from my clinging arms, 
To thrust him in a dungeon — tortured him — 

God — O God — I think I hear him cry. 

As on that dreadful wheel they broke each limb ! 

1 shall go mad ! no, no, I must not think. 

But pray. Give, give me strength. Almighty God, 
That I may feel thine everlasting arms. 

That I may humbly kiss thy chastening rod ! 

And then my child ! Ha ! — I — I — 

I cannot breathe ! O that once more the bliss 

Were given me to see again my boy, 
And press upon his little lips one kiss. 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC, 39 

They come ! my Judges. Lo ! they come ! 

I hear the grating key. Now help me, Lord ! 
Give me the power that I resist their bribes, 

Let me defend thy pure and holy word. 

{Enter Child.] 

My child ! — my sweetest, sweetest darling child, 
Here, here, quick on my heart, my precious boy ! 

happy mother that I may again 

Kiss thee ! I thank them, thank them for this joy ! 

God bless them, bless their kind and friendly hearts 
That they give me my child back to my arms. 

1 will pray for their souls ; my prison now 
Doth lose its ghastly, terrible alarms. 

What says my little Carlos ? Speak, my boy : 
" O mother, must I die when you can save ? 

For if you will but speak and tell the priests 
You love their holy church — I will be brave 

" And they will set us free, for they now send 
Me here to tell you this. O mother, fly ! 



40 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

'T is only to believe as they believe — 

And then we both go free ! O must we die ? " 

God ! mercy ! — Christ have mercy — mercy — 
They make me slay my child. Hear me pray. 

1 am not strong enough for this — my lamb — 

Kiss me and live. My child I cannot slay. 

[Enter Priests — The Inquisitors.'] 

They come, they come, see, here I fall and kneel 
Before you, priests of God. O spare my child ! 

Take me — have mercy on my little one — 
Take me before my sorrow drives me wild. 

And lead me to the stake ! Here are my hands — 
Quick ! quick ! but spare my child, O spare him 
priests ! 

Slay, slay me ! burn me ! tear me limb from limb, 
But let my child go free. What ! are ye beasts 

That would kill children innocent and pure, 
And mangle their soft flesh ? O listen not 



THE SPANISH MOTHER. 4 1 

To my wild words, but spare my only son, 

And throw me to the flames now scorching hot ! 

And you shall see I will not make a cry, 
But go with you ; my spirit shall not flinch. 

Ye priests of God, O let my child go free, 
Take me and let the fire burn inch by inch ! 

They drag my child away ! he calls his mother ! 

Oh ! oh ! oh ! kind priests — one kiss. 
The last, last kiss before my child is gone ! 

The door is shut — open ! — open ! — this — 

This is more than I can bear ! my baby ! — O 
Almighty God ! they '11 slay my child ! 

And I — I might have saved us both, one word ! 
But then ! — avaunt, Satan ! by thee beguiled, 

I would lose my own soul, and meet no more 
My sainted ones in heaven. O Lord, defend ! 

O God, sustain and give me strength that I 
May hold the truth until the last sad end. 



42 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC, 

What *s this ? can I be dying ? Ah ! — my heart — 
Be with thy servant, Lord : this must be death : 

I thank thee — husband ! soon, my love, we meet I 
My God, I praise thee with my dying breath. 

\pies:\ 




/ 



OH, TO BE AT REST. 



SONG.* 



Oh, to be at peace, 

Oh, to be at rest, 
Oh, to sleep at last. 

The long sleep of the blest ! 

Oh, to cease to weep. 
Oh, to cease the strife. 

Oh, to leave the weariness 
Of what we know of life ! 

Oh, to leave the tear. 
Oh, to leave the sigh. 

Oh, to wish no more 

Only the wish to die ! 

* Set to music by the author. 
43 



44 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

The aching heart at peace, 
The weary brain at rest, 

The tired hands but folded 
Over the empty breast. 



Away ! — only away ! 

Beholding God's dear face, 
With nothing but great peace, 

And everlasting grace. 



MEMORY'S PICTURE. 



My love came through the door, and lo ! 

Her very form and face, 
So purely simple, seemed to glow 

With new, peculiar grace. 

Her dress was black, and made of gauze. 
Which veiled but did not hide 

Her perfect arms, so softly white, 
They with the lily vied. 

The crimson flowers at her throat 

Were all the jewels worn. 
Except her eyes, which shone above 

With light that was love-born. 

She held within her graceful hands 
Her hat, which, hanging down, 
45 



46 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

Broke with its strings of ribbon bright 
The dead black of her gown. 

She was a picture standing there, 
Altho* she did not know it, 

My love, with earnest, truthful brow, 
My dreamer and my poet. 

I would have fallen at her feet, 
I could have worshipped there, 

So graceful in her flowing robes, 
But that I did not dare. 

I in my very soul and heart, 

Would paint her if I could, 
As coming through the door that night 
We saw her as she stood. 



FORGIVENESS. 



Because it is divine 

To know how to forgive, 
I '11 be divine, 
And wipe from out my troubled heart 
The memory of this sin of thine. 

Ah, yes ! I will forgive — 

But not of thy deserving ; 
Thou deservest nought, 
Except that I should hate this wrong 
To me and mine, that thou hast wrought. 

I will forgive as I 

Hope one day to be forgiven, 
And put away 
This human ache to hate thee most 
Intensely. I will forgive and pray. 
47 



FIRST LOVE. 



holy love ! O beautiful and sacred 
Love. The evening shadows stealing out 
To sea, or night-bloom of the skies, fall not 
More softly, than the breath of a first and holy 
Love upon the young and trembling heart. 
Unconscious first — 

Then as a dream, and then — 
The great awakening ! O moments fleeting ! O hour 
That cannot stay ! O youth ! O love ! O soul ! 
Never again to be the same ! Hast thou 
Laid this thy gift, thy gift unspeakable, 
Here at my feet ? For this, O friend, I thank thee. 
Thou crown'st me queen, indeed ; I am more fair 
Because I wear the jewel of thy first love. 

1 will arise and purify myself. 

Will kneel and say unto my God : " My Father, 

48 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC, 



49 



Hold, hold me closer to thy heart, for I 
Would learn of thee, how I may meet and keep 
This noble treasure of a first, great love." 
And then into the quiet keeping of a 
Mighty trust, I will exalt, and place 
This priceless gift forever and forever. 




THE INTERPRETER OF SONG. 



He stands composed before them all, 

With grave, and serious air, 
A deep light burning in his eyes, 

The young face calm and fair. 
His hands are clasped as if in prayer, 

His chest is broadly thrown, 
The head is raised with dignity, 

As if it wore a crown ! 
Then part the lips in richest song, 

And majesty of tone ; 
He sings as if the melody 

Were all his very own. 
His soul is seeking for the truth, 

His voice with passion rings ; 
He thinks not of himself, but stands 

Creating as he sings. 
50 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 



5i 



O glory of a life that can 

So nobly hearts allure, 
And win them, through the charm of song, 

To love the grand and pure. 




IF I MAY. 



PART FIRST. 

I will not take the joy which brings a sorrow, 
If I may, 
Put both away. 
I will not learn to love a smile, a voice, 
If glance and tone, 
Once mine alone. 
Shall in some hour lose all their strongest power. 

I will not choose that in my life may come 

The deep unrest, 

Tho' it were blest 
With joy ; for I would wish my soul should be 

As if asleep, 

If God will keep 
Me safe within his holy arms, and let 

Me never know 
53 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC, 53 

The bitter woe 
Of what it means to say—" / must forget! 

PART SECOND. 

Yes ! I will welcome all, nor will refuse, 

Or joy, or pain, 

If I may gain. 
Through all the changing light and deepening shade, 

One step nearer. 

One hope dearer, 
That out of all my soul may rise the purer, 

And find the path, 

Which ever hath 
Brought them, who suffer, on their way the surer. 

Yes— give me all that I may be the richer. 

And may know 

Both joy and woe 
Shall only weave for me that brighter dress, 

Which I shall wear. 

When I may bear. 
Of God's own image, the divine impress. 



THIS WOULD I DO. 



If I were a rose, 

This would I do : 
I would lie upon the white neck of her I love, 
And let my life go out upon the fragrance 

Of her breath. 

If I were a star. 

This would I do : 
I would look deep down into her eyes, 
Into the eyes I love, and learn there 

How to shine. 

If I were a truth strong as the Eternal One, 

This would I do : 
I would live in her heart, in the heart 
I know so well, and 

Be at home. 
54 



Poems, dramatic and lyric. 



55 



If I were a sin, 

This would I do : 
I would fly far away, and tho' her soft hand 
In pity were stretched out, I would not stay, but fly. 

And leave her pure ! 




PROUD ANGUISH. 



Take away your hand 

From my life, 
Turn aside ! and so — 

Come no more ! 
You may go, and leave me 

To hide 
The heart you have bruised 

To the core. 
Take from me the sweet 

Cruel eyes, 
Take also the touch 

That can thrill. 
Go ! — leave me my life, 

Only leave me. 
Before the whole woman 

You kill. 
56 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. J}^ 

You dared to look into 

Too closely 
The innermost shrine 

Of my soul ; 
You entered the 

" Holy of Holies " 
Not wearing the 

High-priestly stole. 
You felt not some places 

Are sacred, 
Your shoes you still kept 

On your feet, 
While Moses came walking 

Unsandaled, 
The burning-unburned 

Bush to meet. 

But you ! you trod 

On my heart ; 
Your hands were rough 

And were bold, 
You gave me the dross 



58 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC 

Of your nature, 

While I gave you nothing 

But gold. 

Pass on ! only leave me 

To silence, 

That I may recover 

My breath, 

Awhile ere I go to 

My grave, 

Forgiving you only 

In death. 






CLAUDIA. 



An Historic Incident i?i the Life of the last of the Claudii. 

On sterile shore of some lone sea, 

Whose walls of granite rock, 
For ages fretted carelessly, 

The wild waves seemed to mock. 
Where cold and bleak the night wind blew, 

And sea-gull hoarsely screamed, 
And deeper still the shadows grew. 

And whiter the wave-crest gleamed. 
*T was there they laid the infant down 

Upon its cold, hard bed. 
Banished by her own father's frown, 

Who wished the child were dead. 
Rome's emperor he — a Claudii, 

Detested as a race, 
59 



6o POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

Now doomed his infant child to die, 

Its mother to disgrace. 
Urgalania she — who once as queen 

Had sat on Caesar's throne, 
Now driven forth with frantic spleen, 

To wander all alone. 
They tore the babe from out her arms, 

They drove her from the city. 
And Rome, once proud of all her charms, 

Now had for her no pity. 
Polybius bore the sleeping child 

Unto the lonely sea. 
Its innocence almost beguiled 

So hard a man as he. 
But Pallas, colder than the rocks. 

Marched swiftly by his side. 
The pity shown he sternly mocks 

Polybius fain would hide. 
And as they neared the fatal shore, 

All desolate and wild. 
Amid the ocean's ceaseless roar. 

They stripped the lovely child. 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 6l 

And, naked, left it there to die 

Upon the cold hard stone. 
Beneath a wild tempestuous sky, 

Unheeded and alone. 
They turned them from the cruel spot, 

They strode in haste away ; 
Imperial Rome they once more sought ; 

The babe unnoticed lay. 
A princess born — of lofty line. 

The infant Claudia — she 
Whose royal birth had been the sign 

Of joy and revelry. 
The heavy night came closely down. 

The crested waves leapt high, 
The ocean's roar could scarcely drown 

That feeble wailing cry. 
And hours long this piteous moan 

Pierced the midnight air. 
But hushed at last the sobbing tone 

When morning dawned fair. 
As wide and bright o'er land and sea. 

Rushed up the radiant sun, 



62 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

And, meeting death thus smilingly, 

There lay the little one. 
A marble statue full of grace, 

Colder than its bed, 
A smile of peace upon its face, 

It scarcely seemed dead. 
The glittering sunbeams lingered there 

To paint it with a blush, 
And kissing lips, and brow, and hair. 

Left over all a hush. 



But who is this with haggard face, 

With wild and frantic air. 
Searching in this lonely place 

For something she 's lost there ? 
*T is Urgalania, the mother — she 

Once Rome's imperial queen ! 
And wife of Claudius — he 

Of dark and hideous mien. 
She saw the babe upon the ground, 

She dashed upon her knees. 



CLAUDIA, 63 

With gasping and half-choking sound 

The child she fain would seize. 
She clasped the cold form to her breast, 

She chafed both hands and feet, 
With eager lips she fondly pressed 

The limbs, to her, so sweet. 
But all in vain — all, all in vain. 

The little life had fled. 
And piercing to her maddened brain 

The thought came, it was dead. 
She fell upon her knees once more. 

She raised her hands on high. 
She cursed all Rome, from shore to shore. 

She cursed the Claudii. 
Then, springing up with sudden start, 

As if again to flee. 
She laid the child close on her heart. 

And leaped into the sea ! 



WHOSE SIN ? 



65 



Scene — The bedroom of a young girl. A coffin covered 
with flowers. 

Costumes — That of an old man, gray hair and beard. 



66 



WHOSE SIN ? 



Here leave me with my dead, I thank you all, 
You have been kind since my deep trouble came ; 

But yet of her now lying cold in death, 

To you her memory will be linked with shame. 

So I would be alone. . . . You have done well, 
And made my child look fair, with leaf and flower. 

Perhaps you shed some tears, yet in your minds 
A scornful thought against my child will lower. 

Yet, once again, I thank you — leave me now. 

Thank God ! they 've gone. Am I in truth alone ? 
I may kneel, now, and ask that for her sin. 

The loving Saviour's blood will sure atone. 

Yes ! I will kneel and lay my gray head down 
Beside the fairest face that ever smiled ; 
67 



68 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

So like her mother — she had the same blue eyes, 
The same soft hair, and brow so calm and mild. 

Oh ! well I do recall her wedding night, 

How sweet, how like a fairy — no thought of fear, 

She came down from this room in this same dress 
She now wears lying in her coffin drear. 

She blushed and smiled and hung around my neck ; 

"Oh ! how you '11 miss me, father," whispered she, 
" For all our lives together we have been. 

And oh ! you 've been so good, so kind to me." 

And then they told her it was time to go ; 

It seemed as tho' I must forever kiss her. 
*'Be good to this dear child," I said to him, 

" For oh ! my poor old heart will sorely miss her." 

Her husband— damn him ! curse him ! — broke her heart — 
He broke my child's poor heart — he struck her hands 
Which she held up before him, weeping sore ; 
He had no pity, but mocked at her demands. 



POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 69 

'T was then she asked the man of God to pray, 
For she had summoned us to hear her tale, 

Her husband, father, priest, on her poor knees 
She crouched before us trembling, wan and pale. 

" Father," she cried, " my father, plead for me. 
Husband, look not so stern, but hear me speak ; 

I know that I have sinned, I 've wronged you all, 
I ask for pardon ; husband, I was weak. 

" You left me all alone ; I was so young ; 

My heart craved love ; you did not see : 
Temptation came, you did not seem to care ; 

And so I fell — ah ! husband, pity me ! 

" For I repent — O God ! I do repent ! 

Say, say you can forgive me ; pray for me, pray ! 
Ah ! what is this ? My heart has stopped its beats ; 

Perhaps kind death may take this pain away." 

Then — as she held her poor beseeching hands 
Up to her husband, and so ceased to speak. 



70 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

But hung upon his face to read forgiveness, 
With panting, bated breath and pallid cheek — 

He struck her down ! Ha ! I must have air ! — 
Devil ! beast ! Why I will kill him yet ! — 

He left her days alone ; did he not see 

Her heart was growing hard at his neglect ? 

She was so young, so used to being loved. 

Her husband — iron-stern — soon seemed to think 

She had no claim on him. Alas ! neglect 
Drove her, at last, beyond the fatal brink, 

And then she made confession — tender soul, 
And sinking 'neath his blow, fell on her face. 

I caught her to my heart, and let him go ; 
I loved my lamb the more in her disgrace. 

'T was long ere she revived ; but when once more 
The life-blood blushed upon her lovely cheek, 

I held her to my heart, I stroked her hair ; 

She pressed her lips to mine, but did not speak. 



WHOSE SIN? yi 

Then slipping from my arms she came up here ; 

This was her room before her mother died, 
And after she was gone I kept it so, 

Exactly as she left it, happy bride. 

It was not very long, I heard a sound — 

A fatal sound — I knew it well. — With speed 

I flew up to my darling's room — too late ! 
O God, forgive my precious child this deed ! 

See had put on this dress she lies in now — 
Her bridal robe, with roses in her hair ; 

She looked as she had looked her wedding night. 
So young, so sweet, so sad, so still, and fair. 

With that death-wound straight through her broken 
heart. 
She left me all alone — how can I live ? 
Ha ! all grows dark — can this, can this be death ? 
O God, forgive my child — forgive, forgive ! 



72 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 



They found him kneeling by his daughter's bier, 
His gray hair straggling o'er her poor face ; 

Both wore the still cold smile of death ; 
Both went away to seek God's loving grace. 




GREETING. 



Dear love, we come in memory of your birth, 
Your wife, your children, and these your friends. 

To keep the feast with sweet and lively mirth, 
In gratitude to Him who birthdays sends. 

We know your deeds of loving kindness well, 
We know you have a heart that strong doth feel 

The beauty of that Gospel which you tell 

To us who, in the sanctuary, round you kneel. 

We know the little children on the street 

Wave you sweet kisses with their dimpled hands. 

And smiles of innocence and love do greet 

You on all sides from these gay childish hands. 

We know the sick and lonely long to hear 
The words of sympathy and lowly prayer 
73 



74 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

You bring to dying bedsides, dispelling fear, 
And teaching them the loving Father's care. 

We know the Poor who shiver without wood, 
Who see their children starving, come to you, 

Relying on your power to give them food, 
Because you act your Gospel, pure and true. 

We know the doubting Thomas doth also come, 
And feareth not that you hold up the rod. 

He knows your modest faith, tho' it be dumb 
In argument, clings closely to your God. 

And now who knows so well your silent worth 
As she, your wife, who here, with grateful pride. 

Calls in your friends, rejoicing that your birth 
Gave her the honor to be your chosen bride ! 



I HOLD MY HEART SO STILL. 



SONGJ 



I know that thou art God, 
I hold my heart so still, 

And say, between my tears, 
I yield me to thy will. 

My sins, I know, are many, 
I feel how weak I am, 

Saviour ! give to me, 

give thy blessed calm ! 

1 do not wish to murmur, 

1 hold me fast and still, 

I only ask to hide my tears, 
And know, O God, thy will. 
' Set to music by the author. 



7S 



A SIMPLE BALLAD. 



Before her father's cottage door, 

The children often played, 
Her eyes were blue, but his were black. 

And he loved the little maid. 

She grew in all her beauty wild, 
And sweetly could she sing : 

The people said, the world some day 
Would with her praises ring. 

They bade her kiss the neighbor-boy 

And say a long farewell ; 
They carried her o'er hills away, 

But still he loved her well. 

The summers came, the summers went, 
The winters brought their snow, 
76 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. yy 

When forth to find the little maid, 
The neighbor-boy would go. 

His knapsack on his shoulder, 

His love deep in his heart, 
His black eyes glistening with the joy 

He felt, at last, to start. 

He came into a city great, 

He heard her sing again. 
She wore a dress of satin white, 

And roses looped her train. 

He stood without, the crowd was great, 

To see the Prima Donna, 
Beside her came a plumed knight, 

Who bore the cross of honor. 

She smiled with her eyes of blue 

Into his eyes of black, 
But knew him not and passed him by, 

A peasant with knapsack ! 



78 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

The night was dark, the night was wild, 
The stars shone cold and clear. 

He wandered with his broken heart 
Off to mountains drear. 

He sat him down he cared not where, 
So cold was he and weary ; 

He fell asleep and dreamed a dream. 
So bright it was and cheery. 

The little maid and he together 
In church knelt side by side ; 

He was the happy bridegroom gay. 
And she the joyous bride. 

She wore a dress of satin white. 
And roses looped her train ; 

The organ rolled and upward bore 
Its glorious refrain. 

And then he woke — the mountains drear 
Rose up against the sky, 



POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRtC. f^ 

The night-wind pierced him to the soul, 
And bore away his cry : 

" O let me dream this dream again, 

This heavenly dream once more." 
And, smiling with his icy lips, 

He dreamed just as before. 

The snow came whirling down and down, 

The everlasting hills 
Stood round about the neighbor-boy, 

While icy darkness fills 

The air and sky. But never more 

The neighbor-boy would wake ; 
He sleepeth well, and still the heart 

That broke for her dear sake. 



YOU AND I. 



Friend ! when you felt the baleful ecstasy of power 

To make me feel, 
Why took you then my heart, to use it as a stone 

To sharpen steel ? 
You saw I was much moved at all you felt and said, 

And ever since 
It is with no fine sparing hand you wield the knife, 

And see me wince 
Beneath the glittering blade. Is this noble in you ? 

Is this a friend ? 
To be so stern, so hard ; to take a fault that 's mine. 

And not defend. 
But strip my woman's pride, which is a bridal veil, 

Unpitying take 

My sin and bear it quivering 'neath your ruthless eyes. 

And coldly make 

80 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC, 



8l 



Me say " 'T is mine." To you I would not, if I could, 

Ungentle be. 
Your fault I 'd take, and fathoms deep would hide it 

From the world and me ! 



^h 




DOVE OF PEACE. 



SONG.' 



I would that the dove of Peace 

Might find her home in my breast, 
And, folding her gentle wings, 

Might make of my heart her nest. 
I would that I might not hear 

The complaining voice of my soul, 
Nor the thunder of the deep waters. 

As wave upon wave doth roll. 
I would that my feet might walk 

On the road that leadeth higher. 
Instead of standing and sinking 

Low down in the cruel mire. 
O God of my life ! come to me. 

And bless thy weary child ! 
In the palm of thine hand, O hide me, 

Quiet and reconciled ! 

^ Set to music by the author. 
82 



THE FLOWER-COQUETTE. 



Do'st see this dainty flower ? 

Within her fragrant cup 
She lured a ray of sun-gold, 

And fairly used him up. 
She held him fast a prisoner, 

Made of herself a prism, 
Dividing all his colors, 

Anointed with holy chrism 
Each charming velvet petal. 

Was not she cunning, though. 
To steal his colors and paint herself 

A dainty flower rainbow ? 



83 



IN THE WOODS. 



Come not with me, but let me go alone, 

Into the woods to-day ; 
Not one of you I want, but undertone 

Of what the hills may say. 
No voice I wish to hear, except the bird. 

Or breathings of the grass. 
Or whispering leaves by wind so gently stirred, 

As 'neath I pass. 

The pulsing of the sinless hearts around, 

Of insect, tree, or flower. 
Or microscopic moss upon the ground, 

Which lives its little hour. 
Is all the sympathy I wish to-day ; 

For friends, the grand old trees 
84 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 85 

Shall help me lift my silent soul to pray 
With Nature on her knees. 



No touch I want, except upon the palm 

The velvet leaf to feel ; 
No kiss besides the air so still and calm, 

While there I '11 kneel. 
No eyes to look in mine, except the light 

Of heaven's own tender blue, 
That offers me an everlasting flight 

To find the good and true. 

No ! I would be alone and would commune 

With Nature's spirit only. 
To-day the world and I are not in tune, 

My heart is sad and lonely. 
Not one of you I want, my spirit's need 

Must search the distant wood. 
And there, away in solitude, shall feed 

Upon its highest good. 



I ONLY WAIT. 



Wait ! give me time, — I cannot breathe 

When I begin this tale ; 
My trembling lips can scarcely wreathe 

The words of bitter wail. 

You were the very last to cheer 

As we sailed out to sea ; 
Remember you the children near, 

The youngest on my knee ? 

'T was I who turned and answered then, 

Unthinking, to the cry 
Of mother ! mother ! — O my God, 

When may I also die ! 

But I must on. For one whole week 

We sailed without a frown 
86 



POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 87 

Upon the sky, nor did we reek 
That ships went sometimes down. 

Alas ! how can I tell you this ? 

Did you not read ? You know 
Of that wild night ? — O God ! the hiss 

Of storm above — below ! 

Again I live it through ! feel yet 

The horror of that hour, 
When dumb with fright, in cold and wet, 

We felt the dread storm-power ! 

Amid the screams of mad despair, 

An angel-voice arose. 
It was my child, my little Clare, 

Full of high repose. 

" Mother," she said, " can no one here 

Pray God to still the storm ? 
You Ve always taught us He is near 

To shield us from all harm." 



88 POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 

My lamb ! my blessed lamb ! No more ! 

No time to say the rest, 
There came a greater wave which tore 

The darlings from my breast. 

Spare me — spare me — all were lost, 

Deep buried in the sea, 
Among the souls thus tempest-tossed, 

The Father left but me. 

I went, with all my children sweet. 

Up to the Golden Gate, 
To enter there I was not meet, 

So now — / only watt. 




FLOWERS. 



O flowers, flowers, flowers, flowers ! 

Come cover me quick all over ! 
Bury me in your dainty bloom, 
Drown me in your sweet perfume. 

For am I not your lover ? 
Delicate leaf, and tender color. 

Beautiful shapes so airy. 
Blue and gold, and rose and green, 
Of velvet soft, with glossy sheen. 

Fit home for variest fairy ! 

Your beauty links me, lovely ones. 

To higher heavenly powers ; 
Ye are my thoughts, my wishes — ye 
My songs, my poems, all I see 
Made visible in flowers. 



90 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

Then come, O come, ye sweetest things, 

And cover me up in bloom ; 
Bury me in your green and gold. 
Kiss me quick ye colors bold, 
And drown me in perfume ! 




ALAS! 



'T were better had they death between, 
Or better each had never seen 
How close their two lives might have been, 
Than ended so. 



91 



YOU WOKE ME. 



SONG. 



You woke me to music and poetry, 

I, you to religion and love ; 
Enough ! Go your way and I mine, 

We meet in the heavens above. 

You were both noble and true, 

You gave me your heart's purest love, 

And yet ! — go your way and I mine, 
We meet in the heavens above. 
' Set to music by the author. 



92 



KNOWN UNTO GOD. 



See ! yonder stately lordly spire, 

Searching through the sky ; 
Which crowns — as flame reveals the fire, 

Cathedral towering high. 
Majestic in its grand outline. 

Symmetrical in form. 
Rich in its rare and chaste design, 

Proof 'gainst time or storm. 

It sanctifies the air around, 

And sets apart a place. 
Like heart of man, where God is found, 

To meet him face to face. 
The morn is fair — the Archbishop 

Sits in his cap and stole ; 

^ True incident in the building of the great Strasburg cathedral. 
93 



94 POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 

He looks with joy upon the walls, 
Which ravish all his soul. 



Here, as he sits, a woman comes, 

Bearing within her arms 
A stone of wondrous beauty wrought, 

A stone of many charms. 
It is the work of her own hands. 

And in it lies her heart ; 
" My lord, accept this for thy church,' 

She says, and would depart. 

" Stay, woman ! this is rarely fine " 

(He cries in eager haste). 
" No other stone in all that church 

So beautiful, so chaste. 
But how shall workmen place it there 

Where best one may admire ? 
Already finish they their work 

Upon the topmost spire ! 
" Yet this must surely have its place 

Where men its beauty see, 



POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 95 

To hide it from the eyes of all, 
I never can agree." 

"Nay, but, my lord," the woman said, 

In voice both soft and low, 
" If as you say no place is found 

To use it here below, 
Then let the workmen bear it up, 

And place it in the spire ; 
If men know nothing of this stone. 

And none be to admire, 
I know that God above will see. 

His angels will behold 
The work I 've put my heart into 

With all my love untold. 
And I shall be well satisfied 

To feel that I have given 
The best I had, not seen of men. 

But seen of God in heaven." 

According as the woman wished, 
They carried up the stone ; 



96 



POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRIC. 



Its beauty hidden from the world, 
Far up in tower lone. 

She heeded not the fame thereof 
Might never go abroad, 

But satisfied her work to give 
To angels and to God. 

And there ! — as flame reveals the fire- 
Burning in the sky, 

Unto this day, cathedral spire 
Lifteth her work on high. 



BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 



I send no greeting ; I do not even feel 
Your name forgotten when in prayer I kneel. 
You came into my life and passed away, 
A troubled dream which flies before the day. 

You asked too much. 

There comes, at last, an end 
Of what one ought to suffer for a friend. 
It then becomes ignoble — self-abase, — 
Not sacrifice — pure — holy — full of grace. 

I suffered much where now I cannot feel ; 
I do not still pretend a friendly zeal 
In what you do — or are — or where you go ; 
A calm indifference is all I know. 
97 



98 



POEMS, DRAMA TIC AND L YRIC. 



I am not angry even, nor doth there burn 
Resentment in my heart ! — No ! 

You must learn 
How wholly I forgive and can forget. 
The sun, upon two friends, 

Hath simply set. 




SONGS 



OF 



CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY RUNCIE 

AUTHOR OF "POBMS DRAMATIC AND LYRIC " AND " DIVINBLY LED " 



A MERRY LIFE— Z> /«zWr— Bass Solo. 1 
DOVE OF PEACE— Z> major— Contralto. 
TONE-POEMS— Contralto. 
SILENCE AND THE SEA— ^ majors 
Contralto. 

I HOLD MY HEART SO STILL— 

£ flat — Mezzo-soprano. 
I'VE WANDERED FAR— ^ flat— 

Contralto. 
YES, I LOVE YOU— Z> wo/Vr- Soprano. 

TAKE MY SOUL, O LORD \—A major 

— Contralto. 
I NEVER TOLD HIM THAT I 

LOVED HIM— G^Soprano. 



W. A. POND, 

25 UNION SQUARE, 
NEW YORK. 



MATTHIUS GREY, 

SAN FRANCISCO, 
CAL. 



CHICAGO MUSIC 
CO., 



CHICAGO, 
ILL. 



> 



